


The Blame Game

by tryslora



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Childbirth, Community: wizsprogs, Humor, M/M, Mpreg, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-15
Updated: 2012-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-31 05:03:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/340226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco is giving birth and it <i>hurts</i>, and he looks <i>terrible</i>, and this is <i>ALL HARRY’S FAULT</i> and he wants to make absolutely whingingly certain that Harry <i>knows</i> this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Blame Game

**Author's Note:**

> Written for prompt #83 at the wizsprogs community for user appleling.
> 
> JK Rowling owns the boys, I’m just writing about them. Many thanks to eternaleponine for the beta and for being as patient with me as she always is! Any mistakes that still remain are entirely mine.

“Potter!” When there wasn’t any response, Draco’s fingers tightened around the rails on the bed and he sat up, shrieking again, “ _POTTER!!_ ”

Harry winced, looking at the tea pot which wasn’t quite warm enough yet, then the open doorway to the birthing room. Then back to the tea. “I’m just getting your tea, Dra—”

“ _FUCK THE TEA!_ ”

Harry heard the indrawn breath from across the way and hurriedly left the tea pot behind just as it started to whistle a cheery tune. He slipped into the room and settled onto the bed next to Draco, reaching for his hand and gripping it tightly just as a low whine started to build in his partner’s throat. Harry felt his knuckles crack as Draco’s hand tightened on his, the whine building into a sharp cry.

“Breathe, love,” Harry murmured, kissing his sweaty forehead. “You remember from the lessons.” He drew in breath and let it out in two quick pants, then three long sighs, the sound tailing off as Draco glared at him.

“Breathe? Are you bloody well kidding me?” Draco snarled. “I _am_ breathing. I’m barely _able_ to breathe around this bloody _pumpkin_ sized tumor inside of me that wants to burrow out my _arse_ and you are trying to get me to _calm down_?”

“Um—”

There was no point in trying to say anything, not with Draco just starting to wind up. “This is _your fault_ , Potter,” Draco snapped. “You are never going to touch my arse again. You are never going to touch _me_ again. I think it would be just perfect if after this happens you never have sex again until you know _exactly_ how miserable I am right now.”

“People go through this all the time,” Harry tried to point out. “It’s not going to kill you.”

“How the hell can you be _sure_?” Draco shouted. Another contraction gripped him and he doubled over, twisting Harry’s hand tight in his until Harry cried out. As the grip eased, Draco smiled tightly at Harry. “That, Potter, is a teeny tiny _fraction_ of just how much I hurt right now. If we _ever_ have another—”

Harry was glad when the Healer walked in before Draco could finish that sentence, or worse yet, convince him to agree to carrying a child himself. “Is he close?” he asked.

“Let me just take a look.” Healer Adams settled in at the end of the bed, nudging the sheet up to examine Draco. “You’re getting close here,” he said. “You’re almost completely dilated, and you’ll be able to start pushing soon.” He gave a quick swish of his wand, nodding at the results of the spell. “Your son is pointing head down, right there and ready, anxious to come out. I think you’ll have a baby within the hour.”

“ _HOUR?_ ” Draco shrieked. “I am not going to sit here pushing something the size of a _pumpkin_ out of my arse for another _hour_.”

“Draco, you knew this was how—”

If looks could kill, Harry would be dead from the glare Draco shot at him. 

“ _Knowing_ because one has read a book on the subject,” Draco said dryly, “is far, far different than _knowing_ because you have experienced the event. Tell me, could you have described a _Crucio_ properly before meeting my mad aunt?”

The snark was ruined, somewhat, by the sharp shriek as another contraction seized him, and Draco started panting desperately, clinging to Harry.

“Almost there,” Healer Adams murmured. “Another few good contractions like that and I’m thinking you’ll be fully—”

“ _SHUT UP!_ ” Draco yelled.

Harry snuck in closer, arm around Draco’s shoulders, kissing his cheek. He smoothed back sweat-soaked pale hair. He didn’t try to say anything, just gave the Healer a look until the man got the idea and quickly left the room, pulling the door closed behind him.

Then Harry waited, holding Draco through the next contraction, feeling the shudder as a sob broke free. “I can’t do it,” Draco whimpered. “Can’t do it. I’m too delicate. You’ve ruined my body, Potter. Ruined it. We’ll never have sex again because I can’t because how will my arse ever be the same after this? Your prick’s nice and thick but it’s not like this. It doesn’t _hurt_ like this.”

“Just a little burning, love, and some pushing—”

“It is _not_ just a little fucking _burning_ , Potter.” Draco glared at him, breath catching as another contraction shook him. “I’m being ripped apart. Torn. Shredded. I never want anything touching my arse again.”

“Not even my tongue?”

Draco shuddered. “Don’t even think about sex. Ever. I will hex your prick off if you mention it again.”

And Harry wisely let the attempt to flirt with Draco to cheer him up drop. It was obviously a poor tactic.

The thing was, nothing had really prepared him for this. He hadn’t even known a wizard could _get_ pregnant until he came home months ago to find Draco sitting despondently on the sofa staring at a small strip of paper. When he had asked Draco what was wrong, his partner had simply wailed, “It’s going to have to come _out_!”

The path of the pregnancy had never been easy, from strange cravings to swollen feet to complaining about exactly how often Draco had to piss (which was often). When Harry had stroked Draco’s belly, telling him just how gorgeous he was, Draco had complained that he was as bloated as a cow and that he’d never have his figure back. As his due date approached, Draco had become snappish, arguing with everything Harry said and refusing to let himself be seen naked. He had read every book on birth, then promptly thrown them at the wall, declaring them rubbish.

And now this. Harry rubbed Draco’s back, gripping his hand tightly as another contraction engulfed him, Draco’s shriek making Harry’s gut hurt because he couldn’t help. “I’m sorry, love,” he murmured.

“You’d bloody well better be _sorry_ ,” Draco snapped. “This is all your fault. If you hadn’t—”

“Shown you how much I love you?” Harry said, hand still slow over the skin bared by the gap in the hospital gown. “Fucked you slowly until you screamed my name? Waited until you begged for me to press into you, over and over—”

Draco went silent, gasping, something keening in the sound, tears slipping over his cheeks. “Merlin!” he whined. “It’s—I’m being ripped apart. It hurts. Potter- _HARRY_! I’m dying. It hurts. Oh Merlin it hurts. I need—I need something. To do something.”

Push, Harry thought. Draco needed to push. “Let me get the healer,” Harry told him.

“You are _not_ going anywhere!” Draco’s hand tightened on Harry’s refusing to let him move. “You started this, you will fucking well see the end of it.”

With a sigh, Harry waved his wand and the door flew open. The healer must have been waiting, and rushed in, closing the door for privacy behind him. As he sat down at the end of the bed, the healer smiled. “There we go, Mr. Malfoy. I can see your son, and he’s ready to come out. You just need to push.”

“Push?” Draco gasped, shuddering and tense. “It won’t fit! It can’t come out that way! Do some magic, I know you’ve got something you can do. Just get it _out of me_ right this second!” He sat up, grabbing Adams’ arm. “Now! Bloody well get it out of me.”

“Draco—” Harry tried to soothe him, wincing at the glare.

“Your son is in the birth canal,” Healer Adams spoke calmly, as if fingers biting into his arm weren’t unusual, and give his profession, perhaps they weren’t. “Given the magic involved in male pregnancy, if I try to do anything to interfere at this time, I might well harm you. You need to push your son out, and let your body begin to heal from the process.”

“I’m going to bleed to death!” Draco cried. “I’m going to be torn apart. You won’t recognize me anymore.”

“You’re going to be fine,” Harry murmured. He wrapped both arms around Draco, pulling him in close. “And I want to meet our son. Don’t you?”

Draco swallowed hard and nodded slowly.

“Then push,” Harry said quietly.

With a scream that threatened to shatter glass, Draco pushed.

“There we go,” Healer Adams said encouragingly. “He’s crowning. Just a few more pushes like that—”

“ _MORE_?” Draco shrieked. “I can’t do more. I can’t do this. I can’t—”

Harry groaned when Draco’s hand tightened on his thigh, fingers biting hard as he doubled over, pushing because he couldn’t seem to not do it. Draco panted when it was done, tears streaming down his face, clear panic written in his silver eyes. 

“All your fault, all your fault,” Draco kept chanting under his breath, like a mantra.

Harry caught his head and turned Draco to face him, leaning in, forehead to forehead. “We started this together, we’re going to finish this together,” he said softly. “I’m here with you. If I could take your pain I would.”

“Fine,” Draco gasped. “You have the next one.”

“One more time, Mr. Malfoy,” Healer Adams said.

“One more time,” Harry echoed. “Deep breath, Draco. Say anything you want, but you need to push so hard and it’ll all be over.”

Draco’s jaw tightened and his gaze darkened. He sucked in a deep breath, his eyes closing as he screamed, “This is _ALL YOUR FAULT, POTTER!_ ” The words ended on a low scream, then a groan, and Draco slumped back, pale skin even paler, lips bloodless.

“Draco?” Harry leaned over him.

“Fuck you,” Draco murmured.

At the end of the bed, a wail split the silence as Healer Adams stood. “I’ve got to take him away in a moment, but I think you two might want take some time first to say hello.”

Harry helped prop Draco up in the bed, waiting while the healer placed their son in Draco’s arms. A slow smile started as Draco lightly traced the infant’s features, not at all bothered by the screaming of the child. “This is our son.” Draco sounded awed by the fact.

“He’s perfect,” Harry told him. “Just like you.”

Draco bent to press a light kiss to the baby’s forehead, smiling when the little one stopped crying at the touch. “That’s right, you know your Papa, don’t you, Scorpius,” Draco murmured.

“Scorpius?” Harry frowned. “Draco—”

“You bear the child and you can name the child,” Draco said mildly.

Harry knew that tone, and backed down. There were a number of reasons why he hadn’t been the one to carry their son, and now wasn’t the time to remind Draco of that. Not when his partner was smiling so sweetly at their child, cooing as if he’d never been screaming obscenities just moments before.

Draco leaned into Harry’s touch, and the three settled in, a comfortable family. Harry lightly touched the pale fuzz of hair on the baby’s head. “Does this mean I’m forgiven?” he asked.

“Hardly,” Draco drawled. “But it means I’ll consider it. And it means you owe me. After all, I went through hours upon hours of horrible pain for you, not to mention destroying my body for nine months beforehand. You should consider how you’re going to make it up to me.”

Harry sighed. He’d thought the last nine months seemed to last forever, but he had a feeling it wasn’t going to be over for a long, long time. “It’s a good thing I love you, Draco Malfoy.” Harry laughed as he spoke softly.

Draco just beamed. “And it’s a very good thing you’ll spoil me properly, Harry Potter,” he pointed out.

And yes, Harry would do just that. Because of course, this was all his fault.


End file.
